


love on my fingers

by Trojie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angelic Possession, Control Issues, Emotional Manipulation, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Episode: s11e09 O Brother Where Art Thou, Power Dynamics, Sam Winchester's possession-related issues, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't quid pro quo, Sammy. This is just logistics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love on my fingers

'Y'know, Sam, there'd be a lot more room in here if you'd just share.'

The bars of the cage are freezing cold against Sam's back, and he's shivering, even through his shirt, even in the stifling, sulphur-scented fug of Hell, even with another body this close to his own.

And it is _close_. Lucifer is all hands. He's tactile, he's grasping. He gestures when he talks, reaches for things. Reaches for Sam like he can't help himself, like touching Sam is a compulsion or an addiction. He looks at Sam's throat, where his shirt buttons part and there's sweat collecting, like that tiny sliver of skin is forbidden fruit. They have this whole metal box to share but it hasn't been more than ten minutes and already Sam has let himself get backed into a corner, and Lucifer is trailing a soft finger over the next button down on his shirt.

'I remember it in there,' he says wistfully. 'All warm and soft and tight-fitting. And I miss touch. I miss the _physicality_ of a vessel, y'know. It's cruel, locking me up in here.'

'You're touching right now,' says Sam, having to really work his throat to get the sounds out. 'Touching me.'

'An illusion,' says Lucifer sadly. 'This is all the witch's spell. I appear how you remember me. This cage is just a secure copy of the real one, after all. A way you can talk to me without really talking to me. C'mon Sam, you know this. We went in together, buddy boy. Me inside you. So when you left … you kinda deprived me. This is my body -' and he slips that button he's been toying with out of its little embroidered hole, lets one cold finger brush Sam's chest '- and I miss it.'

'It's _my_ body.' Sam tries to get his hands up between them, to push Lucifer away. Lucifer catches him by the wrists.

'And you're doing such a good job keeping it warm for me.' Lucifer leans in, drags Sam's arms up high. His vessel - the illusion of his vessel - isn't as tall as Sam, shouldn't be able to pin him to the metal bars by his wrists til he's straining to stand on tiptoes, but it can, it does. Lucifer shifts until he's got both of Sam's wrists in one hand, and brings the other back down to Sam's shirt. 'Are you going to let me in again, Sam?'

'No,' Sam says. 'Never.'

Lucifer tutts, and his expressive mouth pouts, lower lip almost quivering in a caricature of sadness. 'But then how are you gonna save the world, champ? You need me, remember? And I need a little help getting mobile. That isn't quid pro quo, Sammy, it's just logistics.' 

He slides his hand under the edge of Sam's shirt fully. Sam gasps at the cold. Lucifer's fingertips find Sam's nipple, already hard. Because of the temperature in here. That's all. Lucifer rubs at it softly, and Sam bites his lip on the moan that wells up, hates himself for reacting. 

_'This,_ ' says Lucifer softly, leaning close enough to kiss Sam behind the ear, 'is quid pro quo. I'll give you what you're craving, Sam. All the things you want that you've been burying like old bones in that head of yours. You miss it, don't you. You miss me. The things I used to give you.'

'No,' says Sam again. 'I'm not going to say yes to you, not again. So just stop. Please.' He yanks at his hands, trying to free himself, but that grip is iron and he's stuck. Lucifer shifts, puts his knee between Sam's thighs, and grinds up. 

'What was that?' he asks sweetly, rocking against Sam's erection. 'Did you say please?'

'Don't,' Sam tries, pulling at all the places Lucifer has him caught, and only succeeding in rubbing himself up against his tormentor harder. 'Stop.'

'Don't worry,' Lucifer says, that soft, chilly mouth finding Sam's pulse where it's jumping in his throat. 'I won't.'

Sam looks away, over through the bars, hoping against hope that Crowley or Rowena can see this, that they're working on fixing whatever went screwy enough to let Lucifer drag him in here. But there's a smokescreen around the Cage.

'They can't see us,' Lucifer murmurs, pulling Sam's shirts open, popping buttons like arterial spray, pattering against the iron floor. 'You don't have to be shy. Let it all out, Sam.'

Sam hates how hard he is, how his body reacts. He knows it's Pavlovian, that it's what his mind wants that matters, that physical reactions mean nothing, and yet. A hundred years of this beats five without it, and if the right bell rings, Sam'll drool. Bitterly, he can't deny he's been hungry.

'There's my good boy,' says Lucifer, as Sam's thighs spread to let him in. He tugs at Sam's zipper and slides him out of his jeans in a couple of sleek, efficient movements. 'I know what you want, Sammy. I know what gets you there the hardest. I know Dean-o thinks you're a monk, because for all those lonely, lonely nights the two of you spend brooding at each other, he's never heard you the way you've heard him. And I know why. I know you can't do it for yourself right. Never been able to really give yourself what you want, have you?'

Lucifer strokes him lazily, and Sam bites his lip bloody to stop making noises, to make the tears welling up in his eyes be from pain, not relief. He can get through this. He can … can go somewhere else in his head, can push it down, push it away. He can. He will, he's done it before.

Without warning, though, Lucifer spins him around, shoves him until Sam's braced against the cage wall, pillowing his face, sobbing into his arm and still shaking with cold and want and hatred. 'So why don't you let me help you out there, Sammy?' Lucifer asks, lips brushing the nape of Sam's neck, where his hair is sticky with flop sweat. He takes Sam's hand in his own, and wraps it around Sam's cock. 'You know you like it better when someone else is driving.'

Sam blinks his eyes open, looks down through the haze of saltwater matting his eyelashes, at his hand on his dick, his fingers linked with Lucifer's. He's so hard, straining and red in between the white-knuckle grip the Devil has on his twitching fingers. 

'I'm only in your head, Sammy.' Lucifer says softly, into Sam's ear, the words like a kiss. 'I'm an illusion, remember? This bad-touching is all you, baby.' He slides Sam's hand up and down, and Sam's leaking, tormented, slicking the way and making obscene noises as Lucifer jerks him off with his own fingers. 

His face gets pushed into the iron of the cage wall when Lucifer reaches for his other arm as well, linking his fingers around Sam's wrist like a cuff, pulling it back so that he can suck on Sam's fingers. It twists Sam's arm up like a pretzel, until he can feel his shoulder joints protest, threaten to pop, and the lush wetness of the Devil's forked tongue around the pads of his fingers is too sweet. Sam shudders, and Lucifer pushes his hand down and behind, to find the curve of Sam's ass, the tight, dry way into him. 

'Stop,' Sam whispers, on reflex. 

Lucifer smiles against his skin. 'But you _want_ this. Feel that? It's you, Sam, it's your dick, your hand, your ass … it's just me in the driver's seat. You can have this again, you can have it for real. And I'll even save the world into the bargain, how about that?' 

He pushes Sam's fingers home, but he can't make Sam crook them. Not physically, anyway.

'That's it, gorgeous,' Lucifer croons. 'Want you to curl those for me, that's it, find that - there we go,' he says, as Sam's body takes over, as muscle memory does its job and Sam's fingers find his prostate. 'Feels so good, huh? And it's been so long since you had me to help you feel it. C'mon, Sammy, fuck yourself for me.'

When he drags his hand, frigid and shocking, up to pinch Sam's nipple, it's the end of Sam's ability to hold back. His knees go to water and it's only his weight against the bars that's holding him up as he unloads all over the Cage wall. Lucifer strokes him through it - forces him to stroke himself through it - until their hands are a sticky, warm, clasped mess. Sam's other hand slips from his body, he's so like a puppet with the strings cut, and isn't that just a little too close to home? 

Lucifer flips him around again, and licks Sam's come from his thumb, grinning. 'So, partner,' he says, like the cat that got the cream. 'What's our next move?'

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Little Monster](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ere2Mstl8ww) by Royal Blood.
> 
> I swear to God, the way Mark Pellegrino plays Lucifer means that this is not that far from a logical extrapolation.


End file.
